


The Epsilon Site

by captain_sassy_socks



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27454411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_sassy_socks/pseuds/captain_sassy_socks
Summary: In a universe where Teal’c never joined SG-1, the Asgard are an unknown deity, and Apophis destroyed Earth, Colonel Jack O’Neill is in command of the Gamma Site. A safe refuge and a place of hope for the last survivors. Instead, it’s hell. The daily squabbles, constant irritations, and a pile of never-ending problems grate on his nerves and push him to the edge.Until the day, a young woman comes through the Stargate and turns his world upside down.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 169
Kudos: 162





	1. Day 1074

**Author's Note:**

> Preface.
> 
> 1) I have some images in my mind and will connect them as I progress. But I don't know where it will take me, and how long it'll take me to figure everything out.
> 
> 2) The rating is for depiction of violence although I'll try to keep it canon-compliant. Nothing too gory. If you expect smut, push the return button. It won't happen. Main triggers are tagged.
> 
> 3) I will add characters and tags as they come up in the future chapters.
> 
> 4) A lot of swearing and curse words.

The report glides from Jack’s fingers. Once again, the freshwater system causes problems, this time, the lower distribution pump. Maintenance is on it, but with hardly any tools and no spare parts at all, it’s a miracle it hasn’t conked out yet. One day, it will.

Whoever decided that this planet is the perfect place for the Gamma Site needs to be revived and shot dead again. The camp lies within a valley with fertile loamy soil, but the nearest water reservoir is located up in the forest on the hill. Hence a two-mile-long arrangement of pipelines and pumps is necessary to transport the precious water down to the settlement. On top, only two guys have enough experience in water engineering to keep the system running on good days, mind you.

Jack sighs and strokes his two-week-old, unkempt beard. He’ll have to wait and see how it goes. Until then, the sanitary facilities are closed. Grimacing, he lifts his mug and takes a sip of the detestable gray liquid. What wouldn’t he give for a steaming cup of black coffee right now. He huffs and shakes his head at his own foolishness of detouring into the past. He can wish all he wants, but the amenities of a former life disappeared a long time ago.

A brief glance at his calendar confirms the number 1074.

1074 days since the System Lord Apophis destroyed Earth.

1074 days since 1504 refugees relocated to the Gamma Site.

1074 days in charge of a never-ending nightmare that includes famine, diseases, and deadly encounters with the local flora and fauna.

Now, the camp counts 629 residents, of which only a handful are useful; twenty-two soldiers, three cooks, one nurse, four technicians, and 15 more or less successful farmers. Albeit the wannabe hunters and dependent urban folk often waste more of the limited resources than they contribute to society. The whole endeavor has been a fuck-up from the very beginning. Politicians and their families, celebrities, and theoretical scientists are not Earth’s finest in his books. Workmen, mechanics, and people who are able to use their hands are vital for survival, not a kindergarten of conceited personalities.

Ill-humored, Jack picks up the agricultural report and skims the content. The root crops do not grow and prosper in the dry heat, and, to make it worse, they haven’t spotted the harbingers of a change in weather yet. The overdue rainy season adds to the long list of problems on his agenda.

With the back of his hand, he wipes the damp curls from his forehead. If the poisonous wildlife doesn’t kill you, the heat will take care of it.

“Colonel O’Neill!” An all too familiar and detested voice booms through the tarpaulin.

Or a pretentious asshole.

Robert Kinsey enters the base commander's makeshift office with palpable irritation and plants himself in front of Jack’s desk. “I must insist! For the second time this week, I cannot take a well-earned shower.” He waves to himself and his patched-up suit.

“We’re working on it,” Jack grumbles without raising his gaze and acknowledging the self-proclaimed importance of the former senator. “If you’re unhappy, you can file a complaint.”

Kinsey’s eyes burn with rage, and his hands ball into fists as he searches for an adequate reply. Coming up with nothing, he jabs his index finger at Jack and spits out, “Gross impertinence!” Affronted, he turns on his heels and storms out.

Jack doesn’t waste a glance at his retreating form and turns his attention to a memo from Walter. On the periphery of his field of vision, he detects movement on his desk. His right hand shoots up but comes to an abrupt halt mid-air as his inner voice screams CAUTION. He freezes until his brain has processed the sensory input, bug, little, opal. Thank God! His hand plunges down and crushes the pest. If all problems were that easy to solve, his mood would improve tenfold.

As Jack flicks the corpse off, the hollow, monotone sound of the alarm horn catches his breath in his chest.

Fuck! They have unwanted visitors.

In a flash, Jack grabs the P90 leaning against the table leg and jumps up. Before the back of his chair hits the ground, he has already dashed past a frightened Walter peeking out from the supply shelter.

It’s been a while since someone came through the Stargate. Unfortunately, the last encounter resulted in seven injured and three dead people. He could do without a repeat.

Sprinting along the dusty path, Jack pushes his body to the extreme. His lungs protest under the sudden strain, and the muscle in his thigh quiver as his feet cover as much ground as possible. Rounding the large, knobby broadleaf, the gate comes into view. Chevron six encodes. Feet first, he slides down the sandy slope and takes cover behind a mound, next to Major Kawalsky.

Trying to get his breathing under control, he complains, “Can’t have... a quiet minute... to go through the reports... without you... causing a stir.”

“Yeah, right, old man,” Kawalsky chuckles, his eyes and weapon aiming at the center of the Stargate.

With a familiar swoosh, the wormhole establishes itself before it engulfs the place in tense silence.

Nothing happens as the seconds trickle away, one by one.

Jack’s heart drums like a crazed beehive in his ears, and the adrenaline in his veins heightens every sensation. The heat scorches the fine hair on his bare arms, an insect buzzes at the left side of his head, and a bead of sweat clings to his eyebrow. His index finger clamps on the trigger.

Suddenly, a brunette woman staggers through the blue event horizon, gets hit by a red flash in her back, and sinks to the ground with an agonizing cry. Two more red flares splinter the branches above Jack’s head. Whatever is on the other side seems to be advanced and dangerous. He has only six soldiers beside him to counter the threat.

Another woman bolts through the gate, stumbles after a few steps over a rock, and falls flat on her face. The pursuing blast flies over her body and strikes the sand in front of Jack’s face.

Agitated, Jack opens fire, in the hope of scaring the attacker away and to release some pent-up frustration from the day, the week, the entire effing venture. Damn you, Kinsey, Stargate Command, Apophis! To hell with you all!!!

“Jack!” Kawalsky’s harsh voice penetrates the fog while a fierce hand yanks his shoulder. “Jack! Stop shooting! Stop it!”

In slow motion, reality swims back into Jack’s focus. Neither the wormhole nor an enemy appears in his line of sight; only two lifeless bodies lay on the ground. He releases the trigger with a startled jerk.

“It’s over, man,” Kawalsky’s concern washes over him, and the words soothe his frayed nerves. His hand rubs Jack’s back. “It’s over.”

“Yeah, it’s over,” Jack whispers and shuts his eyes, waiting for the disturbing images to vanish. _It’s over._ He repeats the mantra, over and over, like he did many times since the fateful day. However, the trembling in his right hand doesn’t subside.

“Anderson! Fienney! You’re with me!” Kawalsky orders. The three men approach both women with caution.

Anderson examines the brunette and shakes his head from side to side, whereas Fienney feels for a sign of life at the blonde’s throat and detects a weak pulse. “I got something! She’s alive.”

“Take her to the infirmary,” Kawalsky instructs Fienney. “You two,” he points to Anderson and another airman, “bury the other.”

While calm and peace restore themselves at the Gamma Site, Jack struggles to get up. Once more, he rues the day he wasn’t allowed to die.


	2. Day 1074 - later in the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to find out the truth about the mysterious stranger, and hope blossoms again in Sam's exhausted body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) First half of the chapter contains torture. To avoid it, skip beneath the asterix line.
> 
> 2) Originally, I had planned to stick to Jack's perspective but the story necessitates to jump to Sam occasionally. First half is Jack's POV, second half is Sam's POV.

Grim-faced, Jack strides along the empty corridor in the site’s infirmary complex, his destination the stranger who unsettled the daily routine. Every step resounds on the cracked linoleum while the ghosts of the deceased civilians line up at both walls and condemn him. He lowers his head and works this way through the invisible ordeal. His right pinkie finger twitches at his side.

He rounds the corner and arrives at the sickbay. With force, he pushes the door open, so it rattles in its frame. “How is she?” he asks, straightforward and with a dangerous undertone. The events from this morning bother him for some reason, although both women were unarmed and nobody pursued them. However, one cannot be careful enough when megalomaniac System Lords lurk everywhere.

“Still unconscious, sir,” the other person in the room, an elderly woman named Margaret, responds. “She’s dehydrated and malnourished. Several bruises cover her torso, and her low blood pressure worries me. I cleaned the laceration on her head and bandaged her knee, but that’s all I can do with our limited supplies.”

The words float by as Jack approaches the stranger and studies her features. Brittle blonde hair spreads out on the pillow, sunken cheeks, chapped lips, and dark circles under the eyes mar her, and dried blood clings to her ash-gray skin. The fingernails on her right hand are nibbled off.

Who is she? Where does she come from? How does she know about the Gamma Site?

Maybe she’s a saboteur, a spy, or an assassin. He needs answers. Now.

“Call me when she wakes up,” he orders. His fingers test the restraints at her wrist, a simple yet effective precaution.

“Sir,” Margaret notes with a pensive expression, “I’m not sure she’ll make it through the night.”

With a glare void of compassion and empathy, he says, “Then call me when she has died.”

Margaret’s shoulders sag, and she scribbles an annotation on a piece of paper on the clipboard.

Unsatisfied that he didn’t get any answers, however, reassured that the situation is under control—one way or the other—Jack leaves the room. When he steps outside into the late afternoon sun, the shout “she’s waking up” strikes his ear. He stops in his tracks and rushes back inside. His fingers encompass the grip of his handgun and pull it out from his pants.

Storming into the sickbay, he heads for the awakening woman and presses the muzzle against her forehead. “Who are you?” His patience hangs by a thread.

A blank stare meets him before her eyes grow large, and her body goes rigid.

“WHO ARE YOU?” Jack cocks his gun. If she doesn’t answer him right now, he’ll end the charade.

The tip of her tongue brushes along her dry lips, and her Adam’s apple bobs. A hoarse, frightened syllable drifts by, but it doesn’t contain a name or other useful information.

Jack clutches her chin and bores into her soul with his frosty stare. He lowers his voice to a menacing growl. “If I don’t get your name now, I’ll blow your brain away. Got that?” His gaze flits over her face, searching for a reaction or recognition of his intimidation, but the weary woman offers nothing. “Let’s try on three.” He straightens and counts down in a calm tone, “One.”

“S….sss...sa.”

“Two.”

“Saaamann… thaa.”

If Jack hadn’t fixated on her, he would have missed her distraught whisper and the anxious crease of her forehead. At least, he got a name, Samantha. It indicates that she’s an earthling since it was a common choice for a female back there. It could be genuine; it could be a trick. “See, Samantha, that wasn’t so difficult.” A soulless grin graces his lips and bare white teeth. “Next question, are you a snake?”

More vigorous than expected, she denies it, “Nooo!” For a split second, fire burns in the dull blue of her eyes.

Jack huffs. He heard the exact same answer a long time ago, trusted it, and paid a terrible price. He won’t make the same mistake twice. The image of an explosion and civilians screaming in pain flares up in his mind. Subtly, the gun in his hand trembles. The muscles in his arm tense, and he hisses, “Can’t trust a snake.”

From the opposite side of the bed, Margaret intervenes, “Sir, is it re-”

“DO IT!!!” Jack roars. He will screw the secret out of her, whatever it takes. Stepping away, he holsters his weapon and crosses his arms over his chest to hide the continuing tremor.

Disgruntled, Margaret slaps a pad to each temple and connects them via a cable to a modified car battery, their self-made instrument to establish the truth. “Ready, sir.”

When realization dawns on Samantha, she fights with all her remaining strength against the restraints, but they don’t budge. Stricken with fear, she pleads, “No..ooo, pleeeas...”

Jack ignores her, and on his nod, Margaret switches the system on. An agonizing cry pierces the air as Samantha’s body convulses and lifts off the mattress. Even though they apply a tested, fail-safe method, a Goa’uld doesn’t show its ugly head.

After five seconds, Jack tilts his head and gives the silent order to cut off the current.

Lifeless, Samantha slumps down, looking like a fragile small heap underneath the grayish blanket. For a brief moment, the vulnerable sight stirs something within Jack, a vague emotion he has suppressed for a long time. Since he doesn’t want to examine it, he bites down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself. The pain and copper taste on his tongue stifle whatever started to burgeon.

In the meantime, Margaret removes the pads and applies ointment to the irritated skin. When she detects an obscure pulse, she glowers at him.

“Spare me your look of reproach!” Jack snaps, knowing full well that protecting the inhabitants of this base doesn’t justify this act of cruelty. Despite his best attempt to quash the still nagging feeling once and for all, a hairline crack crosses the armor around his broken heart.

***

A distant, buzzing sound pierces through the mist in Sam’s mind. An eternity passes until her eyes flutter open. She tries to make out anything in the fuzzy darkness, but the surrounding objects remain unrecognizable since they swim in and out of her vision before she can grasp them.

In stark contrast to the daze, every fiber of her being commands her attention and screams for water and nutrition. Every breath of air irritates her parched throat. Every muscle contraction hurts.

The act of turning her head to the side sends her world spinning, and nausea overcomes her. As a result, she dry heaves and wheezes into the pillow. After a few seconds, the spasms subside, and she stares into space before the blurred shape of a cup on the table beside her materializes in the faint moonlight.

_Water. Please, let it be water._

Longing for the auspicious item, she reaches for it, but her emaciated and exhausted body doesn’t cooperate. Taking a shaky breath, Sam wills her hand to lift and barely succeeds in curling her index finger. A frustrated wail emerges from her, and panic settles in her chest.

She didn’t survive the destruction of Earth and the Alpha Site, escaped Apophis’ henchmen, and outwitted a group of thieves, only to die abandoned and all alone in the dark with the lifesaver sitting so close and yet so far.

If she had any tears left, they would spill from her eyes.

Since the feat cost her a tremendous amount of dwindling energy, unconsciousness tugs at her once more. Just before Sam slips away, a light above her switches on and forces her to squint in discomfort. A polite voice greets her, “I see, you’re awake.” Fingers feel for her pulse. “Do you want to drink something?”

More than anything but a feeble whimper is everything Sam can muster as a reply.

“Let me help you.” Strong arms pull her upright, and a hand supports her neck. Cold metal touches Sam’s lips, and a waterfall of tangy sweetness cascades down her throat faster than she can handle it. Overwhelmed, she coughs and sends the droplets flying in all directions.

“Easy, my dear, easy.” A coarse-fibered cloth erases the trickle running down her chin. “Let’s try again, shall we?”

After her protesting lungs have calmed down, Sam takes a deep, exploratory breath. Okay, they continue to work, and the residual pain is tolerable. Relieved, she opens her mouth to signal her readiness. Again, the cup presses against her bottom lip, this time at a different angle. She drinks the juice in measured sips, although it reminds her somehow of her grandmother’s heinous nettle tea. Since her body demands more, she blocks out the taste and pushes against the drinking vessel.

“Slow down a bit.” The warning falls on deaf ears. Sam’s purposeful tongue laps up every drop until the inside surface is speckless. A loud, satisfied burp announces the end of the feast.

Before Sam can celebrate her triumph, a damp cloth moves over her face again and wipes away any spilled beads sticking to her skin. She screws up her nose at the relatively tender treatment and squints at the person attending to her. In the dim light, the silhouette of a friendly, wrinkled face comes into focus. Warm, brown eyes send out a wave of sympathy and give Sam hope that she’s not left to die, that someone cares about her.

“Better?”

“Tha-thank youuuu,” Sam croaks and curls up the corners of her mouth. The uncoordinated movement culminates in a distorted grimace instead of a grateful expression.

Still, the woman smiles back at her. “You’re welcome.”

“Hmm,” Sam hums as the pleasant fullness in her stomach spreads out, and sleep creeps in. Her eyelids surrender to gravity as she sinks back into the pillow.

“Sleep, my dear.” Gentle fingers rake through Sam’s hair. “Walter will stand watch over you tonight. If you need anything, just push the button.” On the periphery of her consciousness, Sam notices a rectangular object in her palm and holds on to it. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back.”

Yes, there will be a tomorrow.


	3. Day 1075

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reveals the reason why she came through the Stargate.
> 
> And Jack, well..., he remains a closed book to her.

A screeching bird jolts Sam awake. Dazed, her eyes flutter open only to be blinded by the glaring sun. Squinting, she raises her arm to shield herself against the nuisance and detects a whitish piece of plastic with a red button in her palm. She holds the object in front of her face for closer examination and racks her brain to make sense of it, but comes up short. The meaning eludes her.

Puzzled and curious, she takes a look around. Medical equipment such as a telescopic IV pole and a switched off monitor stand next to her. It looks like she ended up in sickbay, albeit a shabby one. A broken light dangles from the ceiling, faint bloodstains adorn the bedding, and the crooked door frame has seen better days.

And an unsettling quiet one, too. No bustle outside the room, no beeping equipment, nothing, except for the noisy wildlife outside the window.

“ _If you need anything, just push the button.”_

Her hand shoots up again as the events from the previous day assault her. Escaping a group of angry thieves..., dialing the Gamma Site..., jumping through the gate..., pain..., yelling..., and something else, something important happened yesterday. Sam tries to grasp the thought, but it slips away.

Staring at the red button, she hopes this is the Gamma Site; otherwise, she’s in big trouble.

Her bladder uses that precise moment to announce itself.

Well, let’s find out.

About ten seconds later, a cheerful woman enters the room and greets her, “Good morning, Samantha. How can I help?”

Wary, Sam watches her. Braided, gray hair, a friendly, wrinkled face, and a short, sturdy stature radiate a sense of sincerity and trustworthiness. Still, how does she know her name?

When she arrives at her bedside, she stretches out one hand and introduces herself, “I’m Margaret, the nurse.” The offer hangs between them in the air. “You can trust me.” Unconvinced, Sam reaches out and shakes the hand weakly. Satisfied with her reaction, Margaret smiles and asks again, “So, what do you need?”

“I go-,” Sam’s voice breaks, and she coughs, “pee-ee.”

“Just a second,” Margaret says while she elevates the head section to a more comfortable position. Once the locking mechanism clicks into place, she bends down and rummages under the bed. She fetches a bedpan, lifts the blanket, and instructs, “Hips up.” Sam obeys, and the cold metal slides underneath her buttocks. “Keep still, or you’ll spill everything.”

While Sam relieves herself, Margaret shines a light into each eye. “How do you feel today?”

How does she feel? It takes too much effort to move any muscle. Her irritated throat makes it difficult to speak, and a dull pain has settled down at the back of her head. All in all, not too bad. She had been through worse. “Weak..., but okay.” Her stomach growls. “Hungry.”

“Hmm..., that’s progress,” Margaret mutters under her breath and writes something down on her clipboard. “I’ll bring you breakfast. But first things first.”

With a full bedpan in hand, she disappears and leaves Sam wondering about this place. As seedy as the interior decoration looks, the people seem to be a lot more helpful and cordial. Well, Sam admits to herself, she has only met one woman yet and a… man?… last night? She tries to catch the fragment of the fleeting image, but it vanishes. When she’s rested, and in full possession of her strength, she’ll get to the bottom of the mystery.

Lost in thought, Sam misses Margaret’s return until the tray with breakfast, purple juice and light brown mush, appears on the foldout table in front of her. With disdain, she scrutinizes the two items and pokes the slimy mass with the spoon. It can’t be worse than the stuff Evgeniy baked for her last birthday. The flashback stops the movement of her hand, and she sighs. Too many people lost their lives back then. She could be one of them.

Before her mind runs down the depressing memory lane, her rumbling stomach calls her attention to the more urgent matter, sustenance. Hesitantly, she takes a sip of the beverage and fights against the urge to gag. Even the encouragement of ‘it’s healthy and nutritious’ doesn’t turn it into a delicious treat. With difficulty, she empties half of the cup.

Contrary to her expectation, the puree is tasty and satiates her hunger.

Just as Sam licks the spoon clean, a man in green BDUs bursts into the room, grabs a chair, and sits down near the foot end of the bed. He folds his arms on top of the backrest, and—without introducing himself—he cuts straight to the point, “Where are you from, Samantha?”

Taken aback, Sam tilts her head and eyes him; lean body, shaggy, silver-gray hair, unkempt beard, and brown, hostile eyes. A dangerous aura encompasses him and sends a shiver down her spine. He bears the marks of the former Earth military and speaks English, but that doesn’t mean he’s an ally. Experience taught her otherwise. She needs to choose every word with caution around him.

“Earth,” Sam replies.

“Don’t mess with me! Earth was destroyed about three years ago.”

That distraction failed. Since the information in itself is useless, she says, “Alpha Site.”

“Why are you here?”

Direct and straightforward to the next question. How much of the truth should she divulge? A part of her wants to, needs to trust him, whereas the other fears for her own safety. Her gaze wanders to Margaret, who has busied herself with fixing a cable at a monitor.

“I don’t have all day, missy!” he snubs.

Her head swivels back. Torn, Sam reveals a fraction of the motivation why she picked this planet, “I’m looking for someone.”

“And you thought you could find them here.” Incredulity laces each syllable.

Sam nods, and silence descends upon them. Her fingers fiddle with a thread at the seam of the cover. This one-sided conversation resembles more of an interrogation than anything else.

Agonizingly slow, he gets up and moves toward her, until his full height towers over her. “Samantha,” the back of his middle finger strokes her cheek, “I’m not one for idle talk.” His smooth, calm tone wraps like an oppressive blanket around her and constricts her throat. “I repeat, why are you here, and why was gunfire hot on your heels?” His hand clutches her chin as he lowers his head, invading her personal space. His eyes hold an unspoken threat, one she shouldn’t challenge.

Sam flinches and sinks deeper into the pillow, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. Afraid of what this man might do to her if pushed, she tells him the truth, “I-I’m looking for my fa-father.” Her voice is nothing more than a timid and broken whisper. “When Apophis att- attacked and devas-vastated the Alpha Site, w-we got separated.”

At her words, his hand jerks away, and his upper body shoots up, growing stiff, while a dark cloud passes over his face. The visible tremor in his right hand surprises and unsettles her in equal measure. Something triggers such a reaction in him, something that could get her killed if he loses it.

In the hope her explanation will appease him, Sam continues, “I searched for him at the Beta Site. In vain, he wasn’t there.” Unrest stirs within her in her helpless state, and she stretches her arms halfway out in a pleading gesture. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

A few seconds pass, each tugging at her frayed nerves while she tries to read him. Except for his clenching and unclenching fist, he’s a closed book to her, a gloomy and terrifying one.

Finally, some of the tension leaves his body as he shifts his weight on his left foot. “So, the blaze of gunfire didn’t belong to Jaffas?”

Sam shakes her head and confirms, “No.”

“Who was it then?” he questions and crosses his arms over his chest.

“A group of thieves.” He doesn’t need to know the finer details of how she outsmarted these idiots and gained access to the gate, a morally questionable but justifiable action. Her father always said that there was a time for desperate measures.

“The other woman?” His words break through her process of rationalization and steer her back to the present.

Sam furrows her brows. She has no recollection of someone else jumping through the Stargate with her. “A local?”

“You didn’t know her?” A tinge of doubt resonates within his question.

Again, she answers him in the negative with a resolute shake of her head.

“Hmm,” he muses and scratches his beard. His other hand snatches the chair, and he sits down right next to her. Leaning forward on his elbow, he asks in a gentler voice, “What makes you think your father came to the Gamma Site?”

The tight knot in her stomach unravels as her hunch about this place is confirmed. If it didn’t suffer the same fate as two other sites, then the possibility of her dad being alive has just multiplied. It wouldn’t be unlikely for him to seek shelter on a friendly base before moving on to the final destination, erasing all traces in the process and staying one step ahead of the enemy. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

For a brief moment, unexpected sympathy flares up in the man’s eyes before the deeply ingrained sadness seizes him again. However, the sign convinces her to trust him. Maybe he’s even willing to help her. Ducking her head, she discloses another tidbit of information, “We’re supposed to meet at the Epsilon Site.”

A throaty laugh booms through the air as he slaps his thighs. “Someone fooled ya, missy. There’s no Epsilon Site.”

“It exists!” Sam retorts, irked at his blank refusal to believe her. It must exist, or everything she’s been through was—is—pointless.

When his laughter dies down, he cants his head, and seriousness etches itself into his features once more. “You’re quite sure about it.” At her confident nod, he reclines and makes a sweeping gesture. “There are four, Alpha to Delta. Who told you the myth of a fifth refuge?”

This is the moment of truth. Either she keeps the most closely guarded secret to herself or shares it with him in the hope he can provide the missing link. She doesn’t know what prompts her, but the latter wins. “My dad gave me this.” She pulls her necklace out and reveals a brass medallion—1”x1” in size with a broken off corner.

He bends forward and turns the object over in his hand. His stale breath invades Sam’s nostrils as he studies the four rows of gate symbols on its back. After a while, he comes to an unsurprising conclusion. “That’s gibberish.”

“It isn’t.” The closeness between them quickens her pulse, and fear crawls up her legs. Her teeth bite down on her quivering bottom lip.

His gaze flickers between the locket and her mouth before they focus on her eyes. “You know, how to read it.”

Sam swallows hard but withstands his piercing look. Neither does she deny nor confirm his suspicion.

“You won’t tell me.” His sardonic accusation punches her in the gut as he twists the necklace and drags her a fraction of an inch closer. One corner of his mouth curls up. Sam holds her breath and doesn’t dare to move, not a single muscle, not even her eyelids.

The standoff spirals into eternity until he blinks and breaks the contact. “Doesn’t matter,” he grumbles. His fingers ease their grip and release the medallion. Reclining, he changes the topic, “What’s your specialty; cooking, cleaning,” a leer graces his lips, “or perhaps, good-time girl?”

Much needed oxygen fills Sam’s lungs and... wait… what did he say?

Asshole!

In a knee-jerk reaction, she snaps, “I’m not a fucking whore!”

Amused, he taunts her, “Then what are you, missy?”

The outburst has stressed her strained vocal cords and parched throat. Sam grabs the remaining juice, gulps down a large portion, and croaks, “Engineer.”

At the detail, his eyebrows climb toward his hairline, and a sense of satisfaction settles in Sam’s chest. He underestimated her.

“Good, good,” he mumbles, “practical people are in high demand.” With a grunt, he rises, and his eyes travel over her form, head to toe and back up, before they linger at the brass pendant a second longer than necessary. Without another word, he turns and exits, closing the door behind him quietly.

Perplexed, Sam stares into the void and replays part of the conversation in her head. One moment, that man behaved like he wanted to kill her; the next, he was almost empathetic. His gruff demeanor and repulsive appearance stand in stark contrast to the softness she glimpsed underneath.

Besides, she could really do without the degrading ‘missy’.

As she tucks away the precious gift under her shirt, she becomes aware of the other person still present in the room. “Who was that?” she directs the question at Margaret, who has dropped all pretense of being busy by now.

“Colonel O’Neill, the base commander.”

“THE Colonel O’Neill???” Sam shrieks in astonishment and nearly spills the last few drops from the cup.

“Yes…,” Margaret hesitates, baffled at Sam’s reaction. “How do you know him?”

Who doesn’t know him? Colonel Jonathan J. O’Neill, the man who defeated the Goa’uld Ra, led the famous SG-1 team, and ensured a smooth evacuation when Earth was under attack by the System Lord Apophis. He was a legend, a hero, among the people on the Alpha Site, military and civilians alike. Unsure whether or not to disclose that knowledge, Sam evades for the moment, “There have been many tales, you know.”

Margaret chuckles, “Some might be true, some might be fairy tales.”

Sam doubts it. Her father and her uncle held him in high esteem and trusted him with their lives. However, the picture they always painted was so different from the man she witnessed a minute ago. What had happened that turned him into a disgruntled and bedraggled person, a ghost of his former praiseworthy self? Well, despite the obvious.

Related to that, another thought nags her, and she taps her finger against her bottom lip. “Margaret, what did he mean by ‘doesn’t matter’?”

The older woman seats herself beside her on the mattress and says, “Shortly after we arrived, a young airman ate one of these orange, star-shaped fruits and went insane. He took a grenade and blew himself up. Not a pleasant sight, I tell you.” She shudders at the memory. “In the end, we counted three dead, eight injured, and a damaged DHD. Since that day, my dear, nobody can dial out.”

As the implication sinks in, exhaustion and a sense of dread steamroll her. Without a functional Stargate, she’ll be stuck here forever. Her hope of ever finding her dad bursts like a bubble.

“Samantha, listen to me.” Margaret clasps Sam’s hand with hers. “Always remember rule number one. If it’s orange, it’s gonna kill you.”


	4. Day 1081

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam feels like a newborn woman and has to master her first practical test as an engineer.

“-covered from head to toe in mud,” Margaret finishes her story and chuckles. “You should have seen them.” Her hands circle through the air to describe the extent of their mishap. “Dripping wet and grumpy. Truly a sight for sore eyes.”

Sam giggles as the vivid image of a mud-caked Jack emerges in her mind. “God, you’re right,” she snorts. “I wish I had seen it.”

Margaret’s hands rest on Sam’s shoulders, and, lost in the memory of that day, she says, “I wish I had a camera on me.”

Another bout of giggles ripples through Sam’s body as she tries to sit upright on the chair next to the bed while a pair of scissors flies with skill over her head and turns the matted, frizzy hairstyle into a low-maintenance pixie cut. When Margaret offered to take care of it, the act of benevolence lifted her self-esteem.

Maybe she’ll get along with these people.

Unannounced, the door opens, and Jack enters with green clothes wedged beneath his arm. In the middle of the room, his steps falter, and an undecipherable shadow flits over his face. The boots dangle from his fingers and threaten to slip off.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Margaret’s even voice shakes him out of his momentary paralysis. His eyebrows jerk before he composes himself. “Is she fit for duty?” he grumbles, his intense gaze bores into Sam’s soul.

The urge to squirm rises.

“Only light duty,” Margaret replies and fixes him with a stern look for emphasis. Another wisp lands with a deafening thud on the floor.

“Good.” He blinks and throws the clothes on the bed. Scratching his chest, he orders, “Change, and meet me in ten-”

“Fifteen,” Margaret interjects.

“-fifteen minutes outside.”

Without another word, Jack leaves, and whatever engulfed him evaporates.

While Margaret continues to chatter and trim, Sam’s mind stays with the events from the last few minutes and tries to pinpoint what caused her discomfort. After pondering the facts, she concludes that his eyes were bugging her. They held a frightening contradiction, a deeply ingrained sadness combined with a ruthless determination.

A wave of anxiety surges, and the tip of her right middle finger disappears behind her lips.

Out of nowhere, a mirror pops up in front of her and startles Sam. “Here, my dear, look at yourself! You’re beautiful!” The cheerful voice disperses the trepidation and anchors her in the here and now.

Sam looks at the neat result, and the corners of her mouth curl up. After all these weeks on the run, a woman, who has reclaimed a part of her dignity, beams back at her. The sight of the bright sparkle in her eyes and the rosy tinge in her sunken cheeks revives her spirits.

She clasps the other woman’s hand and turns halfway around toward her. With gratitude, she says, “Thank you, Margaret. I love it.”

Margaret smiles and squeezes her fingers before she reminds Sam, “I’m glad you like it. But now, hurry! Don’t keep the Colonel waiting.”

Right. Sam gets up and dons the set of BDU, but the fabric hangs loosely on her hips and shoulders. As much as she twists and tucks, she drowns in the overlarge outfit. She rolls the sleeves up and drags the pants as high up her waist as practicable with a resigned sigh. That’ll have to do.

At least the boots fit.

On time, Sam steps outside and lifts her arm to shield herself against the blazing sun. Next to the exit, Jack leans against the wall, eyes closed, face tilted upward, and hands rubbing his beard.

“I’m ready,” Sam declares.

Jack opens his eyes and pushes himself off. “Follow me, missy.”

Again, his derogatory endearment irks her, but she doesn’t know how to broach the subject without setting him off. He’s in charge, not her. She relies on him, not the other way around. Since the distance between them increases, she pushes her grievance aside and hurries to catch up with him.

Together they walk the well-worn gravel path, passing a row of housing units, a few tents, and two people carrying a roll of tarpaulin. Despite her best efforts, Sam falls behind once more since her pants slide down on every other step. Annoyed, she grips the waistband and yanks it up.

As they round an evergreen, jasmine-scented tree with orange, star-shaped fruits, Jack’s eyes fall on her feeble attempt to manage the bloody wayward material. The muscles on one side of his face twitch, but he doesn’t comment.

After another fifty yards, they arrive at a small, circular plaza. Without waiting for her, Jack explains, “Workshop to the left, vehicle depot ahead. Armory,” he points to his right, “Off limits for you. Got that?”

Sam twists the fabric between her fingers and clutches it against her abdomen while she hastens to his side. His stony, impatient glare demands an acknowledgment from her. She swallows and nods. “Y-Yes, understood.” Her voice trembles on the first syllable before she gets it under control.

“Good.” The hard lines around his eyes soften, and he heads toward the entrance of the workshop.

On the roof of the depot, a dark blue bird chirps a charming melody. Sam draws her lower lip between her teeth and contemplates her surroundings. Besides the sounds of nature, this place is too quiet. On the entire way, she didn’t hear any kind of running machinery; no low-frequency buzzing or familiar humming. With hesitation, Sam remarks, “Ahem, you said vehicle depot. I don’t see any around. Vehicles, I mean.” She hasn’t regained her equilibrium yet.

“Ran out of fuel,” Jack throws over his shoulder. “Nothing moves except for a handful of bikes.”

The reasonable explanation entails another question. “But without fuel,” she muses, “how do you generate electricity?”

“Solar.” He opens the door and ushers her inside. “The only reliable technology around here.”

Inside, an absolute mess hurts her eyes; boxes, tools, and broken items lie around with no logical system to identify them. How can anyone work in this chaos? Let alone all the hazards that scream at her.

Whereas Sam wrinkles her nose in aversion, Jack diverts to one corner and scans a heap of cardboard boxes. He pokes through several of them before he pulls out a thin fiber rope and glances at her waist. His sudden interest in her body makes Sam uncomfortable, and she shifts her weight from one leg onto the other. Self-conscious, her arms cross over her front. The automatic defense reaction leads to her pants yielding to gravity once again.

Shit.

Unfazed by her dilemma, Jack grabs a knife, shortens the rope, and throws a piece toward her. “This should do it for now.” With one hand, she catches it and stares at it in confusion. It eludes her what to do with it, since the more pressing matter just pooled around her knees.

“Your pants…” He vaguely gestures to her thighs.

Right. Somehow, she does a fantastic job at behaving like a fool in his presence. Crushing the rising blush of embarrassment by sheer will, Sam threads the cord through the belt loops and ties an asymmetric bow that isn’t pretty but should keep the material over her hips. Confident, she shakes one leg and squats down to test if the makeshift arrangement stays in place. It does. Satisfied with the result, she straightens and gives him a timid smile. “Thank you. It doesn’t loo-”

“Nevermind,” he cuts her off. “Let’s get whatever,” he waves toward the clutter, “you need.”

Unsure what to prepare for, Sam asks him, “Um, what do you need me for, exactly?” A rough description would be helpful.

He opens a cabinet and peers inside. “Oven. Doesn’t switch on.”

“Okay.” Simple repair work, either mechanical or electric. It’s not going to be easy to find the necessary tools in that mess. Sam steps over a cracked exhaust pipe and clears an area on the workbench. A mischievous smile plays upon her lips at the challenge. “I need this.” The Phillips screwdriver twirls between her fingers and passes her visual inspection. “And this….” With determination and joy, she goes on a hunt and collects a range of useful devices, which Jack places in a rusty toolbox. When she’s sure all essential items are packed, she wipes the back of her hand over her forehead and announces, “I’m all set.” It’s a pity she can’t find the soldering iron.

“Not quite.” Jack snags a rag and stuffs it into the front pocket of her shirt. “Let’s go.” Toolbox in hand, he turns around and kicks an old tension spring to the side.

Baffled, Sam remains rooted to her spot, and her gaze stays glued to the dirty piece of cloth. What just happened? Her brain has problems to categorize his gesture. Unexpected? Yes. Deliberate without second thoughts? Maybe. Unwelcome? She’s not sure since the stark contrast between the periodic glimpses of gentleness and his harsh words scares her and yet sparks something inside her she can’t explain. She hopes it’s only the temptation to solve a mystery.

The abruptly slamming door jolts her out of her rumination and spurs her into action.

In silence, they walk back until the largest building on the site comes into view, the mess hall. Jack directs them to a side entrance and yells into the kitchen, “Jonas! Which one this time?”

A young man with a baking sheet in his hands replies, “Over here!”

Curious, Sam’s eyes skim over the interior furnishing—tinged stainless steel, functional equipment, and a nonslip concrete floor—as she follows Jack. It resembles the standard military design of the Alpha Site. She already has a hunch where the fault could spring from.

As they near the far side of the room, Jack introduces her, “This is Samantha. She’ll repair your oven.” He puts the toolbox down on the ground. “Jonas Quinn, our chief cook.” The man in question waves to her with one flour-dusted hand and a welcoming smile. “Keep me posted,” Jack instructs and departs.

“So, you’re Samantha,” Jonas’ voice redirects her attention. “Welcome to the Gamma Site, where acerbic berries are plenty and poisonous fruits even more so.” His elbow stretches toward her as a greeting while he’s busy kneading dough. “But don’t worry, I know the difference.”

Despite his pathetic attempt at a joke, the bubbly nature and sincere expression persuade her to give him a chance.

“Call me Sam.” Her facial muscles ache from today’s excessive use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter I jump back into Jack's head. Promise.


	5. Day 1093

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Jack, the day starts with a long list of problems, and while one is solved, another one piles on top.

Jack picks up his third report this morning, scans the content, and runs his fingers through his sweaty curls.

Today promises to be one of these days when everything goes wrong.

It started with a short circuit in the housing unit block 400, continued with a malfunction of the sewage treatment plant, which led to a temporary close-down of the toilets, and culminated in a leaking freshwater distribution pipe outside the infirmary complex.

So far.

On top of the technical issues, Jack had to deal with an agitated Kinsey for the better part of an hour. One day, he’ll kill that bastard.

Jack lifts his mug and ponders his available options. Mathews and Fomin are working on the first problem, and Schultz and Buenaventura on the second. That leaves him with Samantha for the latter. Granted, she repaired the oven, changed a few light bulbs, and replaced a cracked window. Thus far, her record has been reassuring, and her skills seem to surpass menial repair works.

Jack scratches a spot behind his ear and sips at the tart liquid.

Still, her genuine curiosity and her constant barrage of questions unnerve him. Several times, she already bugged Kawalsky and him to let her have a look at the damaged DHD. Each of her requests, Jack denied and warned her not to pull a stunt. Instead of listening to him, Kawalsky caught her sneaking toward the gate under cover of darkness two days later. Whether her attempt spoke for her courage or her desperation, Jack hasn’t determined yet. In hindsight, his reprimand didn’t discourage her at all.

Raised, bickering voices outside the administration tent cut through Jack’s musings and sour his mood.

Kinsey.

Jack discards the report on the stack of papers to his left and gets up. Maybe it’s time to trust Samantha a little more and let her work on a crucial system—under his supervision, of course. And maybe drive the point home that there’s no possibility to leave this planet if he allows her to see the damage that is beyond repair herself. His eyes dart into the direction of the stir. Because if he has to bear the sight of that pretentious asshole once more today, he’ll punch him with unashamed delight.

Jack slinks away through the emergency side opening, careful not to make a noise. Once outside, he puts on his shades, looks up, and frowns. Except for a patch of cirrostratus clouds, the sky is as clear as it has been for the entire dry season. If it doesn’t rain soon, they’ll lose most of the harvest of their root crops.

Another item on the endless list of things to curse the day in all its shitty glory.

In search of Samantha, he enters the workshop first and does a double-take. Where there was a mess last week, there’s a tidy workbench with designated spaces for each tool and appliance now.

Impressive.

Jonas and Schultz singing her praise isn’t an exaggeration.

Eventually, Jack locates her in the back of the depot, crouched over the decommissioned and useless MALP. Intrigued, he regards her for a few seconds. Her nimble fingers fly over the metal, fiddle with the bearing at the grappler, and expose its inner secrets. The tip of her tongue pokes out between her tight lips in concentration, and a healthy glow surrounds her. She’s completely in her element, judging by the natural and graceful flow of her movements.

Jack clears his throat to announce his presence.

“Oh, hi,” she acknowledges him casually and rifles through her toolbox until she finds what she’s looking for and focuses back on the task in front of her. “Do you need… something from...me?” she asks as she tries to loosen a nut, but it doesn’t move.

“A leaking pipe must be fixed.” Jack stuffs his hands in his pant pockets and watches her progress.

“Sure, can do,” she presses out between her gritted teeth and continues to fight with the frozen component.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Jack offers, “And you… I grant your request.”

“Really? Now?” Her whole face lights up, and her smile blinds him.

Thrown off by her enthusiasm, Jack tosses his hands up, palms facing toward her, and tempers it, “Whoa, easy! One brief glance only. Not more.”

“That’s all I need.” With renewed energy, she jumps down, wipes her dirty fingers on a piece of rag, and points to the vehicle. “Just give me a minute. I have to clean up a bit.”

“Do it later,” Jack stops her and cants his head toward the exit. “Let’s go, missy.”

“Can you drop that?!” Samantha’s irritated voice smacks him head-on.

Jack narrows his eyes and studies her posture; shoulders squared, chin jutted forward, and eyes gleaming in anger. He takes one step toward her and towers over her. “Why?”

“It’s degrading,” she clarifies and spits the next words out in disgust, “I’m no one’s missy!”

“Says who?” Jack retorts. Her Adam’s apple bobs, and she crumples the cloth until her knuckles turn white. Yet, she stands her ground, although he can overpower her without breaking a sweat. She’s willing to risk a serious confrontation because he abuses a trivial address. Interesting. It shouldn’t surprise him, given her evident streak of stubbornness. He slides his foot backward and rolls her name off his tongue, “Fine. Samantha.”

Most of the tension in her body evaporates, and the lines around her eyes soften. However, her voice remains terse. “And that too, please.”

Jack blinks, once, twice. “What’s wrong with Samantha?”

“Nobody calls me that,” she says with a note of melancholy and averts her gaze, dragging her finger over the corrugated plating of the MALP.

_Huh._ “How shall I call you?”

“Sam.” She lifts her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Just… Sam.”

If that’s what she wants. He can work with the shortened version of her name, which somehow fits her. “Okay, Sam,” Jack tests the three letters, “get your sweet ass moving. We don’t have all day.”

Her dramatic eye-roll and groan of capitulation elicit an unintended soft chuckle from him. Puzzled by his own reaction, he increases the distance between them. That woman has an effect on him he hasn’t quite figured out yet. Fascination? Sure, she caught him off guard with her obstinacy, persistence, and will to survive. Any weaker person would have already been dead. Confusion? Definitely. Her unexpected arrival presented him with a riddle he’s not even close to solving. What was it, she said? Ah, yes, the Epsilon Site. The following night, Jack tossed and turned in bed and tried to pin down a planet or moon as a candidate, but came up empty, despite his experience on the front line. Wherever the site is located, the higher-ups had chosen to withhold that information from him. This annoys him the most.

Jack strokes his beard in contemplation. It’s not her fault. As much as anybody else here, she’s a pawn in the hands of the powerful. He gains nothing if he vents his frustration on her. He shakes his head to clear his mind and holds the door open as he waits for her to get out first.

Outside, he retrieves his well-worn cap from his back pocket and puts it on Sam’s head. Her baby-blue eyes sparkle at him with a question in them. “Can’t have you faint because of a sunstroke,” Jack explains.

“Thanks.” Her timid smile of gratitude sends a tingling sensation across the fine hair on his chest, and one side of his mouth curls upward. At a loss of how to respond, he rubs the back of his neck and walks ahead.

Despite their best intention, they can only trudge to the Stargate since the sun sucks the life out of them on every step. Not a single molecule in the air stirs, and nature around them has fallen silent. Even the constantly chirping birds have escaped into the shades to conserve their strength and energy. Beads of sweat cling to Jack’s skin and soak his shirt.

When they descend the sandy slope, Kawalsky greets them, “Yo, man. What ya doing here in this cruel heat?” Fienney just nods and maintains his position under the tarpaulin of the makeshift post, weapon pointed at the gate.

Jack thumbs to his right. “Sam gets a quick look at the DHD.”

As Kawalsky adjusts his hat, his eyes flit between him and Sam, and he grins. “Sam, huh?”

Jack arches one eyebrow in a fair warning to drop whatever remark formed on his buddy’s tongue.

With the grin still plastered on his face, Kawalsky concedes, “Sure, boss.” After another knowing glance, he escorts Sam to the object in the center. Wiping the moisture from his forehead, Jack observes how she traces the sharp edge of the three blown off keys with care before she kneels down and reaches inside the gaping hole at the column. Her fingers inspect the fragmented crystals, twisting, tugging, and pulling. With every passing second, her movements become more frantic and desperate until she drops her hands and slumps down in defeat with her head hanging. Whatever hope she nourished, it melts away in the blazing midday sun.

The irrational urge to comfort her pierces Jack’s heart, and a long-suppressed feeling bleeds into his somber soul, heartfelt sympathy. Clenching his right fist, he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

What the fuck is happening to him?


	6. Day 1096

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack assigns Sam to a new repair job, he misjudges almost everything, and they end up in a dangerous situation. 
> 
> Twice.

Pebbles scrunch under heavy boots and break the silence. The dispersed dust wafts through the balmy morning air as the first tentative rays of sunlight cast the two lonely figures in a soft glow and the clear sky in bands of purple and golden hues.

Toolbox in one hand, backpack strapped, and P90 clipped to his tactical vest, Jack climbs the steep and narrow beaten path. He would have chosen the other less onerous slope where the rocks transition into rolling hills if it hadn’t been urgent. Yesterday late in the evening, the freshwater supply died, an emergency which doesn’t justify a detour of over two hours. And he wants to reach the cool shadow of the conifers before the suffocating heat drains all life from them.

Despite the early hour, sweat already trickles down his skin. With his sleeve, he wipes off a bead from his jaw and looks over his shoulder behind him. The distance between him and Sam has increased. Like an old steam engine, she pants and pushes herself to her limit, trying to keep up with him, yet she hasn’t asked him once to reduce his pace. Her heaving chest, the redness of her face, and her overall poor physical condition worry him. Since her arrival, she has hardly gained a pound or two. He makes a mental note to inform Jonas to change her diet to a high-calorie one when he gets back.

Jack halts and waits for her to catch up. Instead of slowing down, she waves him off and powers past him, stubborn and adamant as ever. By now, it shouldn’t surprise him anymore. If Sam sets her mind on something, nothing can stop her.

Underneath her forceful strides, the gravel gives way. Suddenly, her left foot slips off the polished surface of a hidden stone, and she loses her balance. She flails and contorts her legs. One knee plows through the dirt. Panic-fueled, one hand claws at a withered bush and rips out half of it.

Alarmed, Jack drops the toolbox, lunges forward, and grabs her sides to prevent her from toppling over. However, her flying elbow grazes his head and knocks his field cap off.

Noiseless, it tumbles down the precipice.

“Easy!” Jack slings his arms around her midriff, sinks down to his knees, and digs his toecaps into the ground in an attempt to decelerate the downhill momentum.

It fails. They still skid along the edge.

A wedge-shaped stone slices through his pants and lacerates his flesh, whereas thorns prick his skin where Sam’s fingers clutch his forearm. The combined pain helps him to refocus, to assess, to devise a last-ditch effort. Gathering all his strength, Jack flips them over, away from their doom, and they come to a halt in a cloud of dust and broken twigs.

The air rushes from his lungs in relief, and his erratic heartbeat resounds in his ears, drowning out all sounds. On the periphery of his vision, a black haze creeps in. Despite having averted a disaster, the unbidden image of a lifeless and barred body at the bottom surfaces in Jack’s mind and sucks him into a maelstrom of blood splatter and deafening explosions.

_Death. Devastation._

_No!_

The copper taste of blood chars his tongue.

Smoke rises in front of his eyes.

A ghost emerges.

_DAD!_

His weapon poking his ribs and a warm liquid wetting his thigh penetrate the fog in his head and haul him back. Blindly, his trembling fingers feel for a sign of life along the exposed skin of Sam’s throat until they finally detect a pulse, fast-paced and lively.

_Alive!_

The discovery calms his nerves a little. Sam is here, safe in his arms. He tightens the embrace, clinging to reality, to life, to her. The demons from his past retreat, and the mantle of repression engulfs his vulnerable soul once again. Still, the last echo of his inner turmoil shines through as he seethes, “Don’t ever scare me like this again!”

“I-I,” Sam swallows, “I won’t.”

Her frightened voice and the palpable tension in her body prompt him to rethink the intention behind his words. He blinks. Maybe he overreacted, maybe the statement was... too harsh, too intimidating, but he can’t... lose her.

Slowly, he tucks a strand behind her ear. Against his expectation, she flinches and tilts her head away from his gentle touch. For a brief moment, his fingers hover over her—hesitating, unsure what to do—before he pulls away and grumbles, “Promise me to be more careful.”

The snapped off stem drops from her hand. “I do,” she replies and relaxes her shoulders.

With a grunt, he disentangles himself and rises to his feet. Once upright, he extends his hand and helps her to get up. A faint murmur of gratitude spills from Sam’s lips as she dusts herself off. Merely a second later, she curses, “Shit.” She plucks at the dark, damp material at her groin and grimaces. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes with a crimson face and gestures to a similar stain on his thigh.

The unreadable mask of the battle-tested soldier has already slipped back into place. Jack steps away and picks up the toolbox. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.” He spares her the humility to further agonize over such an inconsequential thing. He has endured a lot worse in his lifetime on the front lines.

With extra caution, they cover the remaining distance and reach the top without further incidents. Jack puts everything down and stretches his back, whereas Sam bends over and gasps for breath. In awe, she exclaims, “Wow,… this is… is.. beaut... beautiful.”

In front of them, the actual size of the valley becomes obvious. It extends from the ragged cliffs flanking the sand pit with the Stargate to the camp with the typical layout of a settlement designed on the drawing board over to rich, tilled fields and levels off after a collapsed escarpment. At the far end, the sparkling blue of the ocean meets the sky. Everywhere, specks of orange and red break up the monotony of evergreen trees and faded yellow grass patches.

In contrast to the breathtaking sight, a sparse carpet of prickly shrubs overgrows the terrain up here and changes into a dense forest several yards behind them. The pipeline system wriggles like a snake through the landscape, the metallic shimmer standing out against the neutral earth tones.

Jack just nods at her assessment and takes their breakfast from his backpack. They have a busy day ahead of them and need to refuel their energy. “Here, drink.” He hands the canteen to her. While Sam gulps the liquid down, he chews on a stick of dried meat and regards the pump unit a few yards away on his right. Often, they deal with a clogged filter or a stuck valve, either here or at one of the other stations within the system. Seldom a real technical issue arises. “Let’s start over there,” he calls for Sam’s attention and points to the potential troublemaker.

Before the muscles in his legs can execute the command of moving, a barely audible and yet familiar sound catches Jack’s ear, the ominous melody of a million flapping wings.

The color drains from his face.

Time freezes.

As if in slow motion, Jack turns around. A sea of orange dots—thousands upon thousands—emerges from the trees and heads toward them.

_Oh, fuck!!!_

Time speeds up.

“GET DOWN!” He jumps over to Sam, grabs her by the shirtfront, and yanks her down.

As she hits the ground, her anguished cry splits the air, followed by a furious protest. “What th-“

He ignores her and yells, “STAY DOWN!”

Face pressed into the soil, Jack takes a calming breath. For the second time this day, he fights for their lives. However, this time, it’s different. This time, he’s in control. He can protect her as long as he’s able to subdue her. Her struggle against his hand, holding her down at her neck, forces him to shift his weight half on top of her and trap her legs with his.

Her choked whimper extracts a promise from his lips. “I’ll protect you, Sam.”

The wave crashes over them. Each bright, magnificent spot flies along in perfect harmony with its companions, a rehearsed dance as ancient as the species itself. Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes into an eternity. Only when the horn alerts the people in the camp of the approaching danger, Jack dares to lift his head. “Finally,” he breathes, and his eyes track the swarm on its way to the sea.

Underneath him, Sam whines and squirms. Since the threat went by, Jack eases his iron grip and rolls off. Immediately, she retaliates by kicking this shin, and, like a crab fleeing a predator, scrambles away. Her hasty escape ends when her back collides with a thick bush. Curling up into a ball, she clutches her left shoulder and wails, “Why did you do that?” Tears prick at her eyes, and her foot pounds the dirt.

Jack sits up and rubs the spot at his shin. “You’d be dead.” Tomorrow, an angry mark will adorn his flesh, which he’ll wear with pride.

“They’re fucking butterflies, not… bees!” Sam screams, throws a twig at him, and cries out in pain once more.

By now, Jack has lost count of how many times he wished these flying bastards were something else—bees, grasshoppers, whatever. Too many good men and women had died the first time they encountered the harbingers of rain.

“Venomous and deadly,” Jack says and scoots toward her, concern written all over his face. At her incredulous scowl, he adds, “The touch of their wings kills you. Instantly.” Any injury is a smaller price to pay compared to a painful death. Yet, her small, writhing posture tugs at his heart. He reaches for her, hesitates over her leg, and, in the end, retracts his hand. “Can you move your arm?”

Sam lifts her elbow an inch and winces. “No, it hurts like hell.”

It’s his fault. The day has just begun, and he already regrets having assigned her to this job. In hindsight, he should have trusted his instincts. They warned him she isn’t ready for such a physically straining activity and doesn’t have a clue about the dangers up here. One false step and nature strikes back without mercy. Blinded by her curiosity, by the praise of others, by-

He shakes his head and shoves the train of thought aside. No need to go down that road since it doesn’t change anything about their current situation. They still have to bring the system back into operation.

His eyes jump between the pump, the toolbox, and her miserable state. “Guide me. Tell me what to do.”


	7. Day 1101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game night holds a few surprises for Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter stays with Sam.

The squeaker sounds.

“Come on,” Jonas complains as the card tumbles from his fingers, “how do you describe a pirate when you can’t use ship, sword, eye patch, Caribbean, and Jolly Roger?”

“Hm,” Sam tabs her finger against her lips, “how about Blackbeard?”

Jonas groans and buries his head in his hands while Walter’s snicker and Kawalsky’s guffaw ripple through the empty mess hall.

Sam’s grin stretches into a full-blown smile as she watches the three men at the table; childlike, enthusiastic Jonas to her left, reliable, reserved Walter across from her, and quick-witted, steadfast Kawalsky on her right. When they started to play about three hours ago, the group included Benny, a handsome young man who helps in the kitchen. He called it a night a while back.

A hearty yawn erupts and contorts Sam’s face. As much as she enjoys the company, it’s getting late, and tomorrow, she needs all her mental energy to make progress and find a solution for the tricky problem of her little side project. She won’t accomplish anything if her brain is tired. “I think it’s time to hit the sack.”

“You can’t leave now,” Jonas protests. “We’re winning!” His hopeful expression tugs at her heart and battles with the overwhelming tiredness that tightens its grip on her.

“Not even close,” Walter disagrees as his fingers fly over the two heaps of shells. She has to agree that the other team leads by a large margin.

“Man. Are you sure?”

Walter frowns. “You question my ability to count?”

Another yawn fights its way out of her. There’s no point delaying the inevitable when her cot is calling her. Shaking her head at their banter, Sam gets up and knocks on the table. “Night, guys.”

“Night, Sam,” they reply in unison while their ongoing friendly squabble sees her out.

Outside, Sam takes a deep breath and relishes in the fresh air. The soft ground sags beneath her boots, leaving behind a trail of footprints in the mud. For the last three days, a steady downpour has pelted down on the camp and drove the oppressive heat away. Only at night, the clouds dissipate, and two moons illuminate the clear sky. At the moment, one stands in the zenith, and the other looms on the horizon. Between their radiating lights, only a few constellations are visible.

Zzzzzz.

Sam swats at a tiny bug zigzagging in front of her face. Even the pesky insects welcome the change and come out of hiding to annoy everyone.

Above her, a bat-like creature plummets at breakneck speed and hunts a larger moth, whereas a shrieking bird announces its presence in the forest above the camp. In the tranquil atmosphere, all her sorrows fade into the background, except for one.

Sam’s fingers slip underneath her shirt and trace the symbols on the medallion as she stares upward. Somewhere out there must be her father. “I’ve not given up, dad,” she whispers, her voice full of longing. “I’ll find a way. Promise.”

“Hellllo, sweeeetheart.” The slurred endearment dumps a bucket of icy water on her, and she jerks her hand away. No one, besides Jack and Margaret, can know about her secret.

About 15 yards on her right, a disheveled middle-aged man clad in worn shorts and naked from the waist up sways in the semi-darkness and takes a sip from an abused plastic bottle. A cold shiver runs down her spine as the intruder’s eyes travel up and down her body as if she were a trophy to be claimed.

“What do you want?” Sam spits out and steps backward.

The leer turns predatory.

Adrenaline surges through Sam’s veins and heightens her senses. She balls her fists in front of her and takes a defensive stance. Despite a jolt of pain shooting through her injured shoulder, she grits her teeth and focuses on the basics from her self-defense class years ago. The stranger might be taller and more muscular than her, but the element of surprise and his inebriated state work to her advantage. She only needs one well-aimed kick, either to his shin or his groin. It would buy her enough time to flee the scene.

“Don’t playyyy hard tooooo get,” he reproaches her with a wagging finger.

The distance between them decreases. Sam scans her surroundings and evaluates her options. The escape route back to the mess hall is blocked, and the infirmary complex nearby is probably empty this time of the night. Merely the path in the general direction of the Stargate remains at her disposal.

Well, let’s find out.

Out of nowhere, a gun cocks behind the man’s head, and a steely voice orders, “Eric, leave her alone.”

The sudden appearance of Kawalsky startles Sam. One foot skids sidewards, and she almost falls over. Only at the last moment she can avert a disaster to her health and her pride.

Offended, Eric turns halfway around and struggles to keep his balance. “Ta-Take it easyyyy, man,” he drawls and throws her a salacious sideways grin. “Is jussss... a friendlyyy chisch-chat.”

“Is that true, Sam?” Kawalsky directs the question at her while his eyes remain on the target.

“No.” Sam places all her disgust in this one word. She could never indulge such a disgusting excuse of a man.

Disappointment passes over Eric’s face, and he pouts, “Swweeeheart, why youuu lie?” He leans toward her.

“One step closer,” Kawalsky warns him, “and I’ll blow your brains out.” His calm determination scares and reinvigorates her at the same. All the time she spent with him, his open, laid-back persona masked the battle-tested soldier and created the illusion of a friendly, harmless man who couldn’t hurt a fly. Right now, the side of him that defeated Ra at the legendary battle of Abydos takes control.

With renewed confidence, Sam narrows her eyes and squares her shoulders. That fucking asshole doesn’t stand a chance.

Anger flares up in Eric’s posture as the realization of his defeat dawns on him. Like a petulant child, he throws the bottle on the ground and staggers back. “You doonnn know whatya misssssin, bitch,” he growls and spits at Kawalsky’s feet.

Unperturbed, Kawalsky counters, “Don’t tempt me.”

“Fuck youuu!” Eric hisses and stumbles away. When he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, Kawalsky holsters his gun and asks, “Are you okay?”

The tension leaves her body as Sam breathes out in relief, “Yeah.” Her muscles relax, and her racing pulse slows down, yet an unsettling feeling lingers. How could Eric get so wasted? She hasn’t seen any alcohol around here, neither in the mess hall nor during private gatherings.

“Let’s go.” Kawalsky flattens his hand at her lower back and nudges her. “I escort you back to your room.”

“Wait!” She stops him. “Before we go, I have one question.”

“Yeah?” He pulls his hand away.

“Um… did he take drugs? Alcohol? Or what was it?”

For a second, Kawalsky’s eyes bore into her before he trudges over to the majestic tree at the wayside, careful not to slip and fall on the wet grass. “You see these here?” He reaches up and bends a branch downward. With little effort, he twists off an orange star-shaped fruit and twirls it between his fingers. “Eaten raw, it makes you go crazy. Fermented, it only intoxicates you.” He dumps it on the ground and crushes it with the heel of his boot. “The line between both blurs easily.”

Sam creases her forehead and blinks. A possibility to avoid such misuse must exist, be it as a set of rules or punishment. She can’t believe Jack didn’t already try to enforce some measures. And yet, Kawalsky’s reaction stirs up some doubts. “Can you not prohibit the use?”

Kawalsky shrugs with a tinge of resignation. “People will always find a way.” He waves around. “For many, this is a bleak existence, a cheap copy of their former lives. It’s their coping mechanism.”

His answer reminds her once more that the Gamma Site is not a typical military base with a strict code of conduct and disciplinary actions if anyone misbehaves. It rather resembles a chaotic jungle camp with a handful of people who prevent anarchy from unraveling. Sam’s appreciation for their efforts increases tenfold.

“And your arrival has turned quite a number of heads.” Her knees wobble. “It’s not every day a young, beautiful woman comes through the gate.”

The hidden message punches her in the gut. She has never considered herself beautiful in the traditional sense. Sure, her coworkers and other males often complimented her on her blue eyes and her radiant smile, but no one ever dared to approach her with ulterior motives.

Or did she simply miss the signs? Did the circumstance that she was a General’s daughter protect her?

Bile rises in her throat.

Has she become prey for sexually starved men here?

“Hey,”—she flinches as Kawalsky touches her arm—“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s-” Too many emotions whirl around her head, too many implications she needs to process first. “Nothing.” Her apologetic smile pleads with him to drop the subject. For now.

“Come on.” Kawalsky touches her elbow and leads the way. Cricket-like sound accompanies them as they pass the still illuminated administration tent and steer toward the housing unit block 100 behind it. Inside, they walk along the dimly lit corridor with its plain, numbered doors until they arrive at 116, her accommodation.

For the second time this week, a small box and a canteen labeled tea wait on her doorstep. Sam groans, half in annoyance, half in surrender, and crouches down. Pale cookies with purple chunks taunt her from the inside of the transparent container.

_Ugh!_

The mere thought of these damn berries turns her stomach. Unfortunately, these little bastards end up in everything—compote, sweets, soup, even in yesterday’s casserole.

Tomorrow, she’s having a serious talk with a certain chief cook.

“Jonas is really trying to fatten me.” Maybe she can give them away to someone who cherishes such an abomination, someone like Margaret.

When she lifts her gaze, the sparkle dancing across Kawalsky’s face takes her by surprise, and the feeling that she missed a vital clue creeps up on her. “What?” She straightens and crosses one arm over her chest.

“Nothing.” One corner of his mouth twitches. “They… just care about you.”

“Well, that’s... nice,” Sam stresses the last word, which comes out more like a question than a confident statement, and tilts her head. As much as she appreciates the lovely gesture, she hates the attention it casts upon her, especially now in the aftermath of the encounter with Eric.

On the one hand, tonight’s incident has sharpened her awareness that an invisible menace lurks beneath the surface of the Gamma Site. She cannot let her guard down, or she’ll lose her life in the blink of an eye. On the other, there’s this bunch of odd people who haven’t given up in the face of an uncertain future. They make the best of their situation and find joy in the most unlikely places, like game nights, karaoke, and the occasional prank. They even took an incalculable risk and welcomed her in their midst, despite the fear of betrayal hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. A courageous decision Sam doesn’t take for granted.

A glimmer of hope sparks in her heart again. With a genuine smile, she says, “Good night, and... thanks… for everything.”

“Good night, Sam.” Kawalsky moves away and thumbs over his shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

102\. A trustworthy ally.


	8. Day 1114

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an uninvited guest scares Sam, Jack comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: there's a mention and a general description of a spider-like creatur

Moonlight filters through the gaps in the woven wood blinds and illuminates the room in a broken pattern. As midnight approaches, a set of green BDU and clean boots at the door already await the next morning. A well-thumbed book rests next to a gun and a flashlight on a small table.

In the far distance, a lonely creature howls.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jack rubs his hands over his face and recalls the day’s events. The monsoon-like rain motivated many animals to seek shelter in dry places, often clashing with the human inhabitants. Margaret battled with a poisonous lizard hiding behind the medicine cabinet. A group of hungry rodents ravaged the provision store and drove Jonas crazy. And an older resident got stung by a startled insect when he folded his clothes. Fortunately, it was the painful yet non-lethal kind.

On top of that, Kinsey bugged him about some changes to the recreation room’s renovation plans in his building unit. Something about curtains… chair arrangements... whatever. Jack tuned out two seconds after the pretentious asshole had opened his mouth. Nothing worthwhile ever came from that man.

Throughout the day, the only bright spot has been Sam.

Jack lies down on top of the covers—arms folded behind his head—and stares at the ceiling. Against his will, the memory of her bubbly excitement tugs at his facial muscles. When she explained how she had fixed the MALP, Jack didn’t understand a word, but her passion and spirit were contagious in a way he had never experienced to date. The lilt in her voice, the sparkle in her eyes, the lively motions of her hands to highlight technical processes, the sum of all her quirks and mannerisms intrigues him.

And that dazzling smile. It lights up the whole sky.

Sam.

Like a street lamp attracting a moth, she draws him in. Under different circumst-

An earsplitting scream pierces the nocturnal silence and sends Jack into soldier mode from one second to the other. He jumps up, grabs his gun and flashlight, and rushes out of his room. While he sprints toward the source of the commotion, several other worried occupants step into the corridor.

“THERE’S SOMETHING IN MY ROOM!!!”

The ceiling lights come to life and reveal an alarming sight. Pale as death, Sam presses herself against the opposite wall and jabs her fingers toward her accommodation. “OH, MY GOD! IN THERE!” Her agitated voice spirals out of control. “MAKE IT GO AWAY!!!”

Next to the door frame, Jack comes to a halt and crouches down. All senses on alert, he takes a calming breath and blocks out Sam’s screeches behind him. He switches his flashlight on and shines in. A second beam joins. Together, they roam over the walls, the ceiling, and the sparse furniture, trying to locate the intruder. On the small desk, several cookies pile up in front of a full box.

Out of nowhere, a faint crunching noise grazes Jack’s ear. He dips the light beam and spots a palm-sized, black-and-white striped critter with ten hairy legs. Unhurried, it devours a large chunk of a dropped cookie.

Kawalsky chuckles, “Ah, our sweet-toothed spider.”

“Are-are they dan-dangerous?” Sam’s inquires with a still trembling voice.

Jack gets up and faces Sam. “They’re harmless.” One hand reaches out to her but hesitates mid-air. The cold metal between his fingers makes him question the sanity of his action, and he pulls back. Frustrated by his own inability to comfort Sam, he taps Kawalsky’s shoulder and grumbles, “Get the trap.” He turns sideways and yells louder than necessary, “Go back to sleep!”

As Kawalsky dashes away and the corridor empties, an uncomfortable silence stretches between them. The urge to establish physical contact with her—or at least see her magnificent smile again—is prevented by the same means allowing him to protect her. The dichotomy overwhelms him. Not knowing how to deal with it, Jack takes refuge in old behavioral patterns and reprimands Sam, “Don’t keep food lying around! It attracts vermin.”

Sam wraps her arms around her waist and says, “I know... it’s-it’s just...,”—Jack has to strain his ears to catch her whisper—“too much.”

The revelation slaps him in the face. His intention to nurse her back to health has backfired.

One lamp above them starts to flicker and casts the corridor in a surreal light.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

For a long second, Sam fixes him with an irritated glare before she ducks her head. “I did, but Jonas insists.”

Jonas, the most loyal and kind person he has ever met. The young man would follow his orders and never betray him, even if it meant discomfort for others.

Jack squeezes his eyebrows and examines her from head to toe. The sun has already kissed her skin in several places, and regular, nutritious meals have revived her spirits. Still, her collarbone protrudes, and her legs resemble fragile matches. Despite looking healthier than on the day she stumbled through the Stargate, she hasn’t regained her full strength yet.

Maybe extra berry compote at lunch will help.

One corner of his mouth twitches at the unconventional choice of clothing, and, for a moment, Jack wonders where Walter got hold of this unusual combination. A light blue spaghetti strap top with a white bunny printed on the front and faded yellow shorts paint a cute picture.

Jack pauses his train of thought.

Did he just use cute to describe another person... a woman… Sam… in his mind? Sam, the brilliant and hardworking engineer who doesn’t shy away from dirty work, and not som-

“How much longer… you know... will it rain?”

Sam’s voice catapults him out of his musings. Still, the lingering image of Sam having a smudge on her cheek he wants to wipe away lodges a lump in his throats, and Jack swallows hard. Suddenly, the flickering light above him fascinates him. “A while.” It really needs to be repaired.

Silence descends upon them once more.

Why does it take Kawalsky so long to get the bloody trap?

“Um, what happened… to the… to the scar… uhm.” Her hand waves toward his upper body while she stares at an invisible point halfway between him and the wall.

Jack looks down and traces the jagged contour on his left shoulder with his thumb. “This-” he stops short and becomes aware of his state of undress. His dog tags glint in the artificial light while his red plaid pajama pants ride low on his hips.

Slowly, Jack raises his eyes and studies her. Her slight blush, her bent over posture, her averted gaze; the pieces slot together. He blinks, once, twice, and crushes the jittery butterfly in his belly before it has a chance to take off. Scratching the back of his head with his fist, he takes one step away from her and mumbles, “A mission gone wrong.”

“Looks... painful.” She shifts her weight from one foot onto the other and scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip.

True. An alien life form speared him during one of his first missions, and he almost died. However, this is hardly the time to indulge in such gruesome details. “I survived.”

_Damn, Kawalsky! Hurry up!_

As if summoned by will, the entrance door swings open, and Kawalsky comes rushing in, holding a mesh cage in one hand. “I got it,” he shouts. “Including the special treat.” Once he arrives at Sam’s doorstep, he kneels down and pushes the trap close to the glutton, who continues to feast on the last crumbs. For several seconds, nothing happens until the two front legs shoot up and twitch. Lured by the sweet jasmine-like smell, the critter leaves everything behind and scuttles toward the tiny blob of golden liquid at the back.

“Works every time.” With deft fingers, Kawalsky secures the flap and knocks against the frame. “Aren’t you a voracious cutie?”

While Sam grimaces in disdain, Jack blinds him with his flashlight. “Get it out!”

“Yes, sir.” Kawalsky squints and throws him a mock salute. On his way out, he engages in baby talk with his new friend.

Jack jerks his head toward the now pest-free room. "All clear."

Sam leans forward and cranes her neck but doesn’t move. “Thank you, and… um… I’m sorry for the disturbance.” Their eyes meet for a split second, and an apologetic expression settles on her face. “Won’t happen again. Promise.”

Jack shrugs. “We had worse.” As long as it’s not orange, they can cope with any animal that goes astray. That thought leads to another. “Tomorrow, you’ll bring the cookies to my tent.”

“No, no, no,” Sam holds her hands up, palms facing toward Jack, and plays the issue down, “I’ll be more careful, I-I swear. I’ll e-.”

Jack arches an eyebrow. “Sam?”

The soft emphasis on her name snaps her mouth shut, and Sam freezes for a moment before her arms drop. Chewing on her bottom lip, she mumbles, “Sorry.” She rocks back and forth on her feet and asks, “What about Jonas?”

That’s easy. “I’ll handle him.”

Lightning-fast, her posture changes, and her mood brightens. “Thank you.” And then she beams at him with an intensity that rivals the midday sun on Abydos.

For the rest of the night, sleep is the furthest thing on Jack’s mind.


End file.
